


Not Dead

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur thinks he's dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Dead

Eames staggers through the doorway, dropping his bag and not even shutting the door all the way before a muffled "Thank God" was in his ear, Arthur plastered against him. Eames has spent twenty-something hours in transit without sleep and for a moment all he feels is the pleasure of Arthur against him, in his arms, the rightness of the way they fit together, not the shaking. 

Then he feels it and pushes them apart enough to see Arthur's eyes, bloodshot. "Did Yulia get caught at the border?" This job was all Russians except for Eames. Yulia on point, Dmitry to extract. Yulia, Eames knew by reputation, and Eames had worked with Dmitry once before. Janos, Dmitry's brother, was their chemist. An unknown to Eames, but where in corporate circles hiring your relatives was nepotism, in criminal circles, it often implied a certain reliability. There's a reason the Mafia is composed of Families, after all. 

Arthur's just looking at him like Eames has returned from the dead. 

"Arthur, what's happened?" He shakes him gently. 

"Five bodies." Arthur recites finally. "Team of four and the mark." 

Eames is tired and it takes him a few seconds to follow along. 

"Team of four, and the mark. Burned in the warehouse. You're dead, Eames." Arthur's hands on his biceps tighten. 

"Oh, Christ, pet." He pulls Arthur back into their embrace. "I'm sorry." 

"You're _dead_." Arthur's voice is high, bordering on hysteria. 

Eames grips him tighter. "Easy, now. I'm right here. We got out clean, payment received, split up to cross the border." His border cross was boring and easy. Middling flashy car, middling bribe tucked in the passport he'd selected. 

And all this while, Arthur thinking him dead. 

"It wasn't any of us, unless someone had reason to go back to the warehouse." Eames rubs a hand between Arthur's shoulder blades. "It wasn't us." 

"I need -- " Arthur's pulling at his clothes. "I need -- " 

"All right, pet. All right." 

* * *

"You were dead." 

"Not dead," Eames murmurs, sitting on the bed, stroking up into him. "Not dead, precious." 

"Dead. You were --" 

"No." 

"Dead. You were dead, oh god, Eames." Arthur's frantic, writhing in his grip, and Eames can see the tears on his face. 

He grips Arthur's neck hard enough to hurt. "Not dead." 

"I --- " Arthur's chest is heaving like he's run a race. 

"Not dead." He presses their mouths together, not even fucking anymore, just holding them together, "not dead, I promise, I wasn't dead. Not dead, Arthur." He pushes them over, trying not to withdraw while he positions Arthur on his back. Rests his whole body weight on Arthur and just stays that way until he stills. He can feel Arthur's heart beating in his chest like a bird's wings. "Easy, now." Strokes his hair. 

Arthur wraps his arms and legs around Eames when he tries to move, "don't go…" 

"Shhhh." He flexes, pushing into Arthur and withdrawing the best he can, without lifting off. "I'm here. Not dead." 

Eames keeps flexing gently, stroking Arthur's hair, until the other man takes a deep breath and Eames can feel some of the tension lift from his body. Eames lifts with it, pulling off just enough to get his rhythm going, thrusting easily into Arthur, whose writhing transmutes under Eames' hands from fear and loss into some ineffable thing between them, the word they don't say to each other. 

* * *

Later. Eames' head is on Arthur's chest. Their breathing has synchronized as they come down from orgasm. 

"Five bodies in that warehouse, Eames." Arthur's fingers in his hair tighten. "Burned." 

"I know. I know. I got out. We got out." He tells Arthur's chest. 

Arthur's fingers flex and relax and flex again, stroking through Eames' hair. "I don't care. You don't work a job without me as your point, again, do you hear me?" 

Eames squeezes Arthur back. "I hear you." 

"No more." Tugs until their eyes meet. "No more." 

"No more." Eames means it. 


End file.
